


Comparative TikTok Strategies

by sleepinnude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Blow Jobs, Declarations Of Love, First Time Blow Jobs, Hickeys, M/M, Making Out, TikTok, i debated over the under-age tag but it's the end of their junior year so i think we're okay, this is so soft and stupid i love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: Because Meg is a demon, she only uses TikTok for stupid memes, so it's her fault that they end up playing some TikTok game where they all point at one another in turn while some stupid, synthy dance-house song plays in the background and whoever is pointed at when “the boom comes” has to call their crush and confess their feelings.prompt fromProfoundBond server, based ona tiktok video.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, mentioned Dean/others
Comments: 19
Kudos: 202





	1. confessions of the call-your-crush variety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaggieMaybe160](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/gifts), [nickelkeep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelkeep/gifts).



> blame maggie & nickel and all of the [ Profound Bond Discord Server ](https://discord.gg/profoundbond) and also [this TikTok](https://tiktokarchive.tumblr.com/post/190321884272/the-song-makes-a-boom-noise-as-the-kid-in-the) (i'm Old and don't know anything about TikTok)
> 
> they're all in high school and everyone is human and no one has any trauma except for the inescapable trauma of high school.

This is all Sammy’s fucking fault.

Sammy had to go and join the spring musical which means that Dean has to kill two hours after school before rounding back to the middle school to pick up his brother from rehearsal. If it were last year, Dean probably would have spent the two hours just tooling around under Baby’s hood. But things changed, Dean has friends now -- mostly thanks to Cas. Inexplicable, amazing Cas who imprinted on Dean or something and wouldn’t leave him alone and where there is Cas, there is usually Meg and where there is Meg, there is often Jo. Which is weird because Jo and Dean were friends when they were kids and then kinda grew apart (likely because Dean started kissing girls who weren’t Jo and Jo apparently took those marriage vows they pledged on the dodgeball field back in second grade pretty seriously).

But anyway, Dean has friends. After school, he and Cas usually end up at Jo’s family’s diner and sit at a table in a corner splitting a plate of fries and drinking milkshakes until Jo and Meg wander in from field hockey practice, still in long shorts and wielding sticks. And when Dean shoves back from the table and announces that he has to go pick the kid up, they all rise with him and insist on coming. Which is ridiculous but he guesses that’s what having friends means. So they all trail out to Dean’s Impala and make for the middle school, Meg slurping loudly at her milkshake to go. It’s an incongruous pastel pink and when Dean made fun of her for that, she merely countered, “I have layers, Deano. Like an onion.”

So they’re parked in the lot at the back entrance to the school, where the theatre empties out to, waiting for Dean’s puppy of a baby brother when Meg whips out her phone and declares that they’re doing a TikTok challenge.

And, look, okay, Dean loves TikTok. He’s good at TikTok, but he’s a purist. TikTok is for videos of him working under Baby’s hood and absolutely crushing a lip synch to Eye of the Tiger. Dean is a purist. Not like Meg who explains that they’re playing some game where they all point at one another in turn while some stupid, synthy dance-house song plays in the background and whoever is pointed at when “the boom comes” has to call their crush and confess their feelings.

Because Meg is a demon and only uses TikTok for these stupid kinds of memes or to post videos of her doing her make-up. Jo mostly posted highlights from her field hockey games, or up-close shots of bloody noses she had gotten during field hockey games. Cas doesn’t have a TikTok, but if he did, Dean would imagine it would just be videos of, like, bees and flowers, with Led Zeppelin playing in the background.

Either way, Dean would much rather give himself a bloody nose and film it than do Meg’s bidding but when he suggested that, Cas had brokered him a stern look and then Meg had told him that he didn’t get a vote anyway because, quote “It’s your moose of a brother we’re waiting for, Deano.”

Meg sets her phone up on the dash to record and Jo plays the stupid, synthy dance-house music on her phone and they’re all pointing at each other in succession.

Dean looks to Cas, hoping he could still argue his point and end this but, like, Cas is smiling and his blue eyes are shining in the late April sun coming through Baby’s dash, and Dean is only so strong, okay?

Dean doesn’t know the song so he doesn’t necessarily know when “the boom” will come, he just points over his shoulder to Meg whenever Cas points across to him. It’s not long before Jo’s pointing comes a little faster, more frantic, her eyes going wide, so Dean assumes that the trigger must be coming up. In the rearview, he can see that Meg is still aloofly pointing to Jo, unconcerned, sipping from her milkshake. Then again, he wouldn’t be surprised if Meg landed as the victim and just cooly declared that she didn’t have a crush.

Dean cants his eyes to the right. Cas has a determined look on his face, something studious, like this stupid fucking meme is the most important thing in his life and deserves every ounce of his attention. Who would he call? Dean wonders. Cas is his best friend, but they don’t necessarily talk about things like that, like feelings or crushes or whatever. Maybe that senior, what’s-her-name, Nora. Or maybe even -- Dean glances back to the rearview, to Meg. Their friendship is weird, Meg and Cas. And yeah, okay, maybe Dean is jealous of it. Because Cas is Dean’s best friend but Dean isn’t always sure that Meg isn’t Cas’s best friend. They have these little huddles at lunch and inside jokes and for some reason Meg calls Cas Clarence and every time Dean asks for the story behind it Meg just rolls her eyes and says, deadpan, “You kinda had to be there, buster.”

He’s so caught up in all his thinking and brooding that he almost doesn’t realize when the boom does, in fact, come and Cas’s finger has only just pointed at him. The poor guy almost looks apologetic. Dean briefly covers his face and Jo and Meg crow happily at his misfortune.

“Saddle up, cowboy!” Jo shouts, bright brown eyes locked on Dean. Something in Dean’s heart lilts a little because once upon a time he might have been dialing Jo as his crush. He wonders for a split second if that’s not an option, but it feels cruel immediately.

“This is stupid,” Dean mutters brattily as Meg leans over to get her phone and fiddle with the controls. “I’m not gonna-- Like, who’s gonna make me? Besides I don’t even have a crush on anyone right now.”

Before any of the others can protest, there’s a rap against Dean’s window and he almost leaps out of his seat. Sammy is standing there, all lanky idiocy and floppy hair and Dean has never been so happy to see his brother. Saved by the Sasquatch. “And Sammy’s here, so we’re done. We can go home now.”

“No, we can’t,” Meg protests. She rolls down her window and leans out. “Give us a minute, Bullwinkle. We did a TikTok dare and Dean lost so he has to call his crush.”

“Oh, okay,” 

“Sammy!” Dean shouts, eyes flashing. Sam’s a traitor. Dean is never going to forgive him. Sam doesn’t look concerned that he’s just incurred Dean’s eternal wrath, though. He’s grinning all wide and making pointed eyebrows at Cas and rocking back on his heels to wait.

Because, yeah. Yeah, if he’s being honest, Dean should be dialing Cas’s number. Fuck all if he’s going to do that, though.

Meg vaults back over the front bench and repositions her camera. “Waiting on you, stud,” she says to Dean and sucks noisily from her cup. There’s nothing but dregs left, so she’s only doing it to be a dick.

Heaving a sigh, Dean pulls his phone from his pocket. “Fine. Friggin’ fine.” Whatever. He’ll just call, like, Lisa, or Robin. Or fuck it, even Carmen. Carmen would be good -- she was definitely over him, had basically forgotten he existed. Calling Robin or Lisa and telling either of them that he liked them… Well, they might believe him and he didn’t want to do that. Like with Jo, it would be cruel. And it would mean pretending more and...

He’s scrolling absently up his contact list, back toward Carmen, and the knot in his stomach is pulling tighter and tighter and when he looks up through his lashes Cas is staring at him. And yeah, that’s nothing new and there’s this intensity to it and yeah, that’s nothing new either, really.

“You don’t actually have to, Dean,” he says, voice all low and quiet, like it’s just the two of them. Like it’s the other night, when Cas called Dean at 1 AM to babble about some meteor something or other and so Dean snuck out and picked him up and they drove out to this clearing on the other side of town and just sat on the hood of Baby, barely half a foot from each other, not saying anything. They had their chins tipped to the sky but Dean kept sneaking looks to Cas, watching the way his lashes fanned darker shadows against his cheeks in the night, the awed part to his mouth, the way the stupid fucking scarf that Jo knitted for him, yellow and black, was crooked and shifted in the slight breeze.

Dean clears his throat, says, “It’s fine,” and dials.

He has his screen tilted away from them all just enough so they can’t see the name on it. The call rings out twice and he tips his eyes to the camera on Meg’s phone briefly but then Castiel is shuffling in his seat, pulling his phone from his pocket and squinting at the screen.

“Dean,” he says, brow furrowed. “You’ve misdialed; you’re calling me.”

Dean doesn’t respond for a moment, eyes locked on his phone that’s declaring “CAS” in bold letters. “Didn’t misdial,” he says, voice wrecked and shaking.

He looks up and there’s Cas, looking back. He can faintly hear his phone still ringing beneath the buzzing in his ears. Cas looks from him, to his phone in his hand, and then back again. 

“Dean?” he asks and Dean has never heard his voice like that. Breathy and hitching and turned up at the end. 

He vaguely registers Meg’s eyes ticking up in interest, Jo gripping the back of Castiel’s seat so hard Baby’s leather creaks against her fingernails, Sam practically pressing his nose to the window.

“Not kidding,” Dean says around a swallow. He barely has time to get the words out before Cas is leaping for him, across the bench, putting his hands at Dean’s cheeks and kissing him. He can hear Jo shouting behind him, Meg laughing, and then he doesn’t hear anything because holy fuck.

Cas is kissing him.

Cas likes him back.

Dean’s dumb, useless one-sided crush is...not one-sided. He laughs against Cas’s lips and curls his arms over his shoulders and pulls him further into the kiss. He’s not sure how long they’re caught up like that, lips pressed together, foreheads pressed together, chests pressed together. Long enough for Jo to start swatting at Cas’s head and Meg to clear her throat pointedly.

“Gigantor looks like he’s about to explode,” she says dully before opening the door and scooting closer to Jo so Sam can slide into the backseat.

“So,” Sam says and he’s brimming with eager delight. “Who did Dean end up calling?”

“Shaddup,” Dean replies and leans in to kiss Cas again. He only gets a second into it though before he pulls back and turns to Meg, pointing at her strictly. “You’re not posting that.”

Meg grins and wiggles her phone and says, “Too late,” because she’s a demon.

“I’ll make her take it down,” Cas says on an exhale, their noses still bumping. Dean lifts his chin a little, let’s their noses drag together and he has made fun of couples for doing this exact thing. Just that winter he had mimed vomiting when he saw a couple doing this at the park, when they had all gone ice-skating. But Cas is so close that Dean can count his eyelashes and if that means they’re friggin’ doing butterfly kisses so be it.

“Whatever,” Dean replies and he leans in for another kiss until the backseat heckles him about having homework and dinner plans and can’t they make-out on their own time.

So okay, maybe TikTok challenges weren’t so stupid and maybe it wasn’t all Sammy’s fault after all.


	2. confessions of the teenage-dream variety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have an empty house and a few hours at their disposal.
> 
> mind the rating update, please!

Normally, sharing a room with Sammy is kinda nice. It’s nice that they can be staring at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep, and whisper back and forth to one another until it happens. It’s nice that when their parents fight (rare), they can close the door against it, but not be alone. It’s nice that there’s always someone there with him.

Except it means that there’s _always_ someone there. With him.

This becomes more of a problem when Dean and Cas start...well, being “Dean and Cas.”

It’s hard to think of what they’re doing as dating, because they mostly do the same things they did before: they eat lunch together, they go to the Harvelle’s diner, they hang out on weekends and play video games. It’s just that usually they’re, like, holding hands while they do all that, and when one of them has to leave, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the other’s lips. And sometimes, when it’s a whole group together, Dean will text Cas from just across the room because, like, Dean has something he wants to tell only Cas, or Cas will text Dean because he remembers something about a conversation they were having earlier, or Dean just really wants to tell Cas that he looks good, sitting like that, with the sun falling over his hair and his eyes all lit up.

And sometimes Dean wants to be in his room with Cas and not have his little brother around.

Which is why those two hours of Sammy’s rehearsal time become gold. Dean and Cas don’t spend the time at the diner, drinking milkshakes and launching straw wrappers at each other and meeting up with Meg and Jo anymore (or, well, they do, but not all the time).

It’s one of the those afternoons.

They wave goodbye to Meg and Jo at their lockers, ambling off to field hockey practice, and climb into the Impala and Cas looks out the window and leaves his hand on his knee while Dean drives with one hand on the wheel and the other cupped over Cas’s knuckles. When they pull into Dean’s driveway, Cas makes a big show of hitching Dean’s backpack over his shoulder (leaving his own in the car until the ride back) and Dean makes a big show of opening the passenger door for him.

Up the path to the porch, Dean walks backward, talking with his hands and continuing their previous conversation about how much cooler Rogue is than Gambit. Dean is laying out his reasoning for why she should totally get with Wolverine instead. Cas isn’t buying it; he just shakes his head and laughs a little and catches Dean when he almost trips up the steps because he’s still trying to walk backward.

“I’m telling you, Cas, you just have a thing for the accent.”

“Maybe I do,” Cas agrees amiably.

“I bet I could do a Cajun accent,” Dean says.

Cas doesn’t spare him the moment to try because the front door is closed behind them. He fits his hands into the front of Dean’s jacket to pull him in close and they're kissing. They’re kissing before Dean really has a mind to think of it as such -- they’re kissing and his front is pressed to Cas’s and Cas is up against the door and Dean has to plant a hand over one of Cas’s shoulders to keep himself upright.

God, does he love kissing Cas.

He never thought he would be fucking thankful for TikTok or _Meg_ for that matter, but if that stupid meme is what it took to get him to get his ass in gear… Well, so be it. God bless the broken road and all that.

They kiss like that, heated but unhurried, for awhile. Cas lets Dean’s book bag drop to the floor and Dean sort of hunches down a little so he can be kissing Cas from below. He just _likes_ it like that, okay? Tilting his head up to kiss Cas, the way Cas turns his head and pulls a hand up to cup his jaw when he does. And then Dean straightens to his full height and presses further into Cas and their hips slot together and _fuck_ is Dean glad the house is empty, his room is empty. “C’mon,” he hums into the notch below Cas’s jaw, and then he tugs them both to stumble up the stairs.

Even with the house empty, Dean still shuts the bedroom door behind them. Cas wanders over to Dean’s bed and sits, while Dean shuffles out of his leather jacket. He crowds into Cas once he’s free of it, hunkers over him and presses their foreheads together.

“Hey,” he says softly, green eyes on dark blue, and a smile playing on his lips.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies and he smiles and it lights up his whole fucking face. A hand comes up and wraps around the stupid pendant necklace that Sammy gave him a million years ago. Cas uses it to draw him in closer and when he releases it Dean could swear it glows hot against his skin.

They’re kissing again and it’s just a little awkward, Dean hunched over and Cas bent back and they have his whole bed, this is stupid.

Dean gets a knee on either side of Cas’s legs and full-on straddles the dude and kisses him from above, fingers all caught up in his mess of a hairstyle. Cas makes a strained noise at that and tosses one arm around his shoulders before falling back against the bed. Dean lands with a quiet exhale of breath and a laugh. Cas echoes it and then goes back to kissing him, hands moving down his shoulders, over his back, drifting up under the hem of his t-shirt.

This isn’t the first time they’ve done this.

It’s been maybe two weeks since the whole call-your-crush confession and it was clear from the next day that they both wanted...this. Wanted hands and mouths and hips pressing and soft murmurs of names and desperate, broken off “ _please_ ”s. This isn’t the first time, and they’ve gone further. Dean has seen Cas in nothing but his boxers and Cas has seen Dean in nothing and they’ve both gotten their hands below the waist and Dean knows what Cas sounds like when he comes and Cas has seen Dean’s eyes when he comes.

So this isn’t the first time and it isn’t the furthest but something about this time is sticking in Dean’s chest.

Cas’s touch on his bare back has his hips crashing down against Cas’s with a needy whine that he almost doesn’t recognize from himself. He spills it right into Cas’s mouth which has Cas hiccuping through a breath and then canting his hips up in return.

So the “unhurried” nature of it all falls away pretty quickly. 

Dean shoves to sit up, still rolling his hips a little, and grips the hem of Cas’s henley, yanks it up his body and over his head. Cas stops for a minute then, hair even more fucked up, sprawled over Dean’s bedspread, eyes gone liquid dark, and stares up at Dean. After just a moment of that, he sits up straight himself, arms coming around Dean’s waist to catch him there before he’s flipping Dean’s flannel over his shoulders, down his arms, and getting rid of the t-shirt under it with equally deft precision.

When he bows his head forward and seals his hot mouth around one of Dean’s nipples, Dean lets out another noise that he can’t quite believe came from himself. One hand immediately jumps up to wind through Cas’s hair, tight, while the other clutches at his arm. Cas stays where he is a long moment, flat of his tongue working against the peak. Dean keeps making these stupid, choked-off sounds above him and then he full on pulls Cas’s head back by the hair and drops down to sit on his heels so he can kiss Cas's mouth, sloppy and filthy.

“Dean,” Cas pants against his cheek, spreading spit as he goes and that shouldn’t be hot, _why is that hot?_ His hands are shaking and undoing the fly to Dean’s pants, fumbling with the belt.

“Hang on.” They’ve fucked this up before: everything is easier and faster when they both take care of their own pants. Dean leans back and gets the belt un-cinched, the button and fly opened, and he’s about to stand from Cas’s lap and kick them off completely when Cas doubles forward and prints his mouth over the pocket of Dean’s boxers that are accessible.

Dean loses higher brain functioning.

His dick is so hard it hurts, still in jeans more or less, and boxers. But Cas’s mouth is scorching and damp and sealed around the line of his cock. He drawls out a ragged, “Fuuuuck, dude,” and his eyes actually roll back. He wants to fist his hands in Cas’s hair and hold him against the line of this erection, wants to pitch his hips up and up and up and into the delicious, wet heat of Cas’s mouth.

“Cas--” Maybe it’s something in the broken cant of Dean’s voice, maybe it’s the way his thighs start to shake under him. But something makes Cas pull back and look up at Dean. And Dean closes his eyes against Cas’s gaze because he can’t stop the words that had sprung up in his chest just a second ago. “Cas, I think I fucking love you.”

 _Great job, Lose-chester,_ Dean thinks to himself. Nothing says romance like a guy’s mouth on your dick. Probably could have picked a better time. Like on an actual _date_. Or after you’ve talked about what you even _are_ to each other. Is he your boyfriend? He might not even be your boyfriend and his hand is a second away from your rock-hard dick and you told him that you love him.

“Dean,” Cas breathes out. And within a second he has Dean thrown around, on his back against the pillows and Dean sometimes forgets how strong Cas actually is. Dean is hiding, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes and trying to breathe, trying to will, like, an ounce of blood back to his brain. Cas just gently takes each of his hands in his and when Dean dares to look at him, he’s smiling. And fuck, really, just… Cas smiling? It does something to Dean, okay? He can’t help but smile back and turn one of his hands so that it’s curled around Cas’s wrist.

“Dean, I think I fucking love you, too,” Cas says simply. And then he shakes his head. “Sorry, that’s a lie. I know I love you.”

Dean can feel himself blush, can feel the heat pooling under his cheeks and across his nose and to the tips of his ears and over his chest. “Okay. Cool.” _Cool_. Dean wants to fucking deck himself in the face. “I mean. Good. I mean. That’s good to hear.”

Cas rolls his eyes at him and slides between Dean’s legs and tucks his head to Dean’s neck and sucks. “Can I give you a hickey?” Cas asks in a hot whisper that rushes up to tease Dean’s ear.

“Yeah.” And the next thing Dean knows he has an armful of Cas curled over his chest and Cas’s mouth-- Fucking hell. His mouth is open and making all these noises as it works against the tender skin just below the hinge of Dean's jaw. Cas's teeth graze along swelling skin, lips sucking along the slight burn and Dean is absolutely going to come in his pants. He starts whining and yanking loosely on Cas’s hair and at some point he actually starts to beg.

“Okay, okay,” comes Cas’s gentle response. But not before he licks fully over the mark he’s apparently left on Dean’s throat, and Dean is going to die, here, on this bed.

Cas pulls off of him, drawing another whine from Dean, and gets rid of Dean's pants and his own jeans and then they’re both in just boxers and Cas takes care to fit their hips together just so, line the hot lengths of their cocks up in just the right tortuous angle and then he drags himself against Dean and Dean’s vision whites out.

He has one arm vised around Cas’s shoulder, the other thrown down so he can fist at his sheets. Cas’s face is just to the side of his but he’s tilted his head so they can kiss messily, mouths open, gasping through every push-pull. Cas is more or less riding Dean’s thigh, fingers digging faint pink lines into Dean’s shoulder on the one side, and Dean is jerking his hips up in rhythm.

“Wait, wait,” Dean pants finally. He can feel his orgasm curling low in his stomach but he doesn’t want to come like this, in his boxers, chafing his dick.

He rolls out from under Cas, who gives a bereft whimper, and fumbles through the drawer of his side-table for the bottle of lube. Palming it, he shucks off his boxers and then bits his lip to study Cas.

He's on his back, hips rolling loosely and eyes closed. His hair is a goddamn hazard; there wild spots of red over his cheeks and down his chest and pooling at the inside of his elbows. Dean's left shallow rivulets of pink at his arm and along his chest from grabbing at him, holding on. His lips are fucking sinful, spread wide open and plush with saliva and Dean wants to fucking devour him.

He wants to _devour_ him.

Reaching out, he lets one hand stroke against the waistband of Cas’s boxer’s. “Hey. Can I…?”

“Yes,” Cas answers, hips already hitching up to help Dean along.

Dean loves him.

“Wanna use my mouth on you. If that’s okay?”

Cas opens his eyes then, meets Dean’s and blinks soft. Dean can imagine that’s what he looks like when he first wakes up. He’s about to give the dude a blowjob but suddenly all he can think about is how badly he wants to be able to see Cas waking up, every morning.

“Yeah,” Cas answers. “Yeah. If… I mean, yeah.”

Dean grins at him, nerves buzzing at his temples, and drops the lube to the side. “Okay, but I’ve never done this, so, like--”

Cas just gives him another heart-breakingly soft look and reaches out to push his fingers through Dean’s hair. The scritch of his fingertips draw sparks along his scalp. Dean absolutely keens at it.

Cas’s boxers are on the floor and Dean has his mouth around his cock before he really even registers it happening. Next time, he’s going to have to take notice. He’s going to have to look long and hard, appreciate the line of Cas’s naked dick. But now the line of it is heavy along Dean’s tongue and that’s more than enough. He rolls his lips and sucks and swallows and feels the blunt head of it against his soft palate. Cas is letting lose all sorts of gorgeous noises above him and Dean is torn between burying his face to the crease of his thigh and pulling off to watch Cas go practically feral.

In the end, he opens his throat and sinks down. Which only lasts for a few seconds before he gags a little and has to pull back but Cas doesn’t care. After only another second or two, one of Cas’s hands comes down, raking at Dean’s shoulder so Dean slips back up. They kiss, filthy, for a long pass of time, Cas moaning into it and thrusting his hips. But then he regains himself and finds the discarded bottle of lube. He slicks his hand and gets it around both of their cocks and Dean struggles just to keep above water long enough.

When he comes, it’s with Cas, and it’s with his forehead pressed to Cas and one of his hands tangled tight in the fingers of Cas’s free hand. They both collapse back and wait for breathing to catch up, hearts to settle in.

Dean regains himself first and contents himself to kissing lazily along Cas’s collarbone. He figures if he has a hickey from Cas, he should at least return the favor. After a minute of his ministrations, he feels a hand through his hair and then a thumb stroking over his cheekbone. When he has what he’s certain will be a lasting bloom sucked into Cas’s skin, he looks up and finds Cas smiling broadly down at him.

“Hey,” Cas murmurs.

“Hello, Cas,” Dean replies with a grin of his own.

He props himself up on his hands and kisses Cas’s red mouth with tenderness. When he breaks the kiss, he keeps close, their fringes mingling and Dean can still count Cas’s eyelashes. “I didn’t just… I mean, I meant that. I really do think I love you.”

Cas brings one hand up to cup Dean’s heated cheek and he nods. “I know. And I really did mean it to. I know I love you.”

Dean can’t help but kiss him again. “Okay, good, so does that mean you’re my boyfriend?”

Cas breaks into a low peal of laughter but he nods and Dean tackles him into the pillows, fluttering light kisses over his chest and cheeks and forehead and hair. Cas tickles him in retaliation which makes Dean squawk and tweak Cas's nipples and that...elicits a very particular sound that gets them rolling against one another again.

And if Sammy gets picked up a little late from rehearsal, well, he can deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> those crazy kids ;)
> 
> play with me on [tumblr](https://disasterfreewill.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> come yell with me on [tumblr](https://disasterfreewill.tumblr.com/)


End file.
